


Light of The Dead Week

by redheadlady



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crush at First Sight, Cute things I want to write, Fluff, M/M, Student!Atsumu, Waiter!Hinata, but I guess it kind of turns into comedy, spoiler-free :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadlady/pseuds/redheadlady
Summary: When reasons blur, motive becomes vapor, and future darkens; your smile leads the way towards hope. (Basically, it's almost finals week and Atsumu is desperate, but at least he's got Hinata Shoyo).
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 26
Kudos: 213





	Light of The Dead Week

**Author's Note:**

> Atsuhina is one of my current favorites! This is my first time writing for the ship. I didn't think It would turn out this long. I hope you enjoy!

Dead week, it’s an American term that indicates the week before finals. Students don’t have classes during the seven days of dead week, but it doesn’t point to vacation whatsoever. Just how the name suggests, everyone is basically dying, otherwise miserable. It’s a sink or swim situation; either hardcore studying now or find the GPA dropping later.

Atsumu is one of the sufferers. He has eight classes worth twenty-one credits to pass, a tower of books to read before Sunday, three essays to write due Friday, two presentation slides to design that’s been demanded, and a case to solve scheduled for tomorrow at eight. Sometimes, he catches himself staring into the void, wondering whether or not he will be able to graduate from this law school without losing part of his soul along the way.

The clock marks nine in the evening and the library seems to be more crowded than usual. No one is talking but the white noises of footsteps, paper scratching, occasional sobs, and distant screaming begin to cloud over his focus. The moment he realizes how he has been reading the same sentence over and over again, he blows out the last of his irritation and slams his laptop close. He grabs his backpack, packs the books and sweeps his stationery off the table into the compartment, ignoring how unorganized the inside becomes. 

As he rises to his feet, a couple of students immediately dash towards him to tag the seat. The two of them manage to set their hand on the backrest at the same time, shooting a menacing glare to one another, pressuring each other to give in. Atsumu grimaces at the view and slides himself out of the scene. 

Atsumu knows he can’t afford to lose time, yet there’s a significant increase on the amount of students swarming around the campus and beyond; a symptom that trumpets the beginning of dead week. He has already acknowledged exactly how jam-packed the library will be, and don’t even think about going to a coffee shop. He’s a junior now and he has been through dead week fifth time alive. He knows he needs somewhere out of the mob.

Upon exiting the building, he feels a vibration coming from his phone inside his trousers’ pocket. He fishes the device out and reads the screen: Omi-kun is calling.

“What about the analysis for tomorrow? Have you read the document?” Sakusa starts without greeting, voice raspy from dehydration. 

Atsumu hums in assent as he proceeds to walk across the parking lot. “It’s about murder by youth, isn’t it? I’ve searched the precedent and there’s one that seems similar,” he says as he glances at his wristwatch. The assignment’s time limit is in eleven hours. “Want to work based on that? We‘re literally deceased if we don’t kick-off.”

“Whatever. Just send the link of the google doc—“

“Omi-kun, no, we must discuss in person. It’s a group project,” Atsumu states as he cuts his sentence off. He knows Sakusa is making a twisted face on the other side of the line as a reaction.

“Ugh, I’m not meeting you in campus.” 

Atsumu somehow has predicted his refusal as well. Sakusa doesn’t fancy being among the crowd, especially among students in distress; who knows when was the last time they shower? Atsumu can’t even remember his, but don’t tell Sakusa that. It’s January, he doesn’t sweat, and he has Calvin Klein in his bag. He’s good.

“All right, where do you want to meet then?”

“How am I supposed to know, duh. I told you we can just use google document?” 

“Ugh, don’t raise your voice at me and don’t make things hard, Omi-kun, I don’t have time for this,” Atsumu heaves a long sigh. “I have only slept for five hours in total for the last three days.”

“You sleep?” Sakusa scoffs. “I only close my eyes when I blink.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes at him even though he can’t see it. “So what do you get as a reward then, Prada eyebags?” he mocks. “Are we seriously arguing about sleep when we should argue about the case? If you want to argue, do it for the defendant.”

“Whatever. If you want to discuss this in person then find the place, you idiot,” Sakusa bites back.

“Wait, I know where to go,” Atsumu pauses as he rummages through his backpack. “I’ll send the location on Line. Share it to Bokuto as well,” he says when he succeeds in digging up his car key.

“Only if the place is hygienic.”

With that, the call ends. Atsumu grips his phone to fight back the urge of throwing the innocent device onto the asphalt out of anger. Instead, he releases his loaded emotion by slamming shut the car door and hurling his backpack to the backseat. Sighing again, he rests his forehead on the steering wheel.

He’s not irked towards Sakusa, he’s already used to him and his clean-freak behavior. He knows Sakusa will show up in the end, hygienic or not the place will be. His temper is purely on grounds of the dead week, and also the finals week that will follow afterward. These are the particular periods time when he questions himself why the hell did he opt for law school.

In any case, he can’t afford to grieve upon his eighteen-year-old-high-schooler-arse who jot ‘a lawyer’ as an option for his career path after one night of streaming Witness for The Prosecution. Now the milk has been spilled, he twists the ignition key and powers up the car engine. There’s one destination in his mind. 

Atsumu drives his car out of the parking lot and through the avenue. The overgrown trees and wild shrubs darken the road, yet it doesn’t stop him from speeding up. Time may be not money, but time is every word he could’ve typed for his assignment. He travels towards the opposite direction of the train station and enters a residential area. It costs about fifteen minutes before he finally pulls up. 

In front of him is a lone, 24-hour diner that he had stumbled on during dead week last semester. Atsumu hasn’t visited again since the premises is located off the beaten track; which is good because no other student besides him seems to have discovered it. The red neon-sign flickers atop the roof and the illumination from the fluorescent-lamp inside leaks through the wide window, casting light upon the dark intersection. 

As Atsumu pushes open the entrance door, the warmth of the heater welcomes him, followed by a chant-like greeting coming from the counter. He breathes in the scent of baked garlic and ground coffee and breathes out in relief as he spots no other colleague lounging at the dining area; just a couple of white-collar workers cramming down their dinner after work. 

Atsumu chooses to sit at a four-person booth next to the window, placing his laptop carefully on the tabletop and dumping his backpack alongside him. He closes his eyes and leans against the sofa, silently praying that these ordeals will end once again without any hitch.

“Hi, good evening. Would you like to order a drink first?”

Atsumu turns to the cheerful voice and suddenly it strikes him motionless. Standing beside his table is not that lanky auntie he’d met last semester; but a really, totally, downright, absolute — and any other adverb in Atsumu’s vocabulary — cute guy who’s currently shooting a wide smile and looking straight at the poor law student with a beautiful pair of upturned eyes. He’s been blessed with tangerine-colored hair that looks like it will curl when it grows longer, and somewhat sun-kissed skin that shimmer under the lights, and a built figure that’s not to brawny but enough to shape his shirt, and Atsumu gapes at him without blinking.

“Uh,” the guy tilts his head after a solid minute of silence. “Are you ready to order?”

His voice jolts Atsumu out of his thought. “Eh, uh,” he splutters as he seeks the menu. He can feel the blood rushing up to his cheeks and ears. He locates the book at the other end of the table and grasps it at once, causing its holder to topple over and fall onto the floor. The clanking sound resets Atsumu’s consciousness and his heartbeat calms down by itself.

“Just, uh,” Atsumu swallows. “Black coffee, please.”

The guy nods and writes his order on a small notepad. ”Black coffee it is. Anything else?” he asks and Atsumu shakes his head. “It will be ready in a second,” he shoots another smile. 

Before that guy takes his leave, Atsumu manages to catch a glimpse of the name-tag pinned on his apron. It’s handwritten in romaji, so it’s easier to decipher. SHOYO. Atsumu confidently assumes the ‘yo’ in his name must be constructed with the kanji of ‘the sun’. 

Atsumu’s eyes stalk down Shoyo’s steps. Even after Shoyo has entered the kitchen, his gaze stays fixed on the separation curtain. His mind keeps on repeating the image of Shoyo’s smiles, replaying the tone of his voice. Shoyo. That name fits him without fault. Atsumu can’t recall any other person with the name Shoyo. He bits his lower lips unconsciously, he wants to say the word, he wants to hear how it sounds and how it tastes on his mouth.

“Were you just staring at the waiter, you’re so gross.”

This time, he finds Sakusa standing beside his table. He has his mask on but from his eyes, it’s clear that he’s wincing hard. Atsumu comes to his senses and registers how his action has been resembling a crude sexual-harasser. He really fights back the urge to crash his own head against the wall.

“What the hell, I was thinking.” Atsumu attempts to make his intonation as flat as possible. “I didn’t realize where I was looking.”

Sakusa purses his lips and shrugs. He slides himself to the sofa across Atsumu, placing a stack of paper on the table roughly — almost to hitting, which Atsumu instantly blenches at the sight. Sakusa lifts an eyebrow.

“Were you staring at his as—“

“I am not!” He isn't entirely sure if he was. “What the heck made you think of that, Omi-kun! More importantly, where’s Bokuto?”

“Stop by 7-Eleven,” Sakusa answers as he pulls out his laptop and even more paper out of his bag. “Give me the witnesses’ data, I am so not believing the only evidence of the murder is a bloody spork.”

Atsumu rifles through his own pile of paper and roots out a couple of documents out. The files are worn out with post-it sticking out, scribbles by the side of the paragraph, and brown stains spotted here and there. He notices how Sakusa’s mouth curls upside down as he holds the files hesitantly between his thumbs and index finger, minimalizing his touch.

Believe it or not; Atsumu, Sakusa, and Bokuto are all in the criminal justice program. Atsumu and Sakusa are in their junior year, sixth semester. Bokuto is in his last semester, but he hasn’t taken this class as he was in an internship the year before. Yes, Bokuto is _that_ good being a defense lawyer. 

“Atsumu, you dumb prick, this one is not the record of the prosecutor’s witnesses,” Sakusa bawls out, throwing the compiled paperwork back to Atsumu.

Atsumu squints as he reads the title. _Article of Incorporation_. His face loses its color in a wink. That’s his brother’s paperwork. Osamu is in the business law program. He’s also slaving under his project tonight. In all likelihood, he will need his document, which means a phone of yelling and scolding will ring his phone sooner or later.

“I am so deceasing,” Atsumu mutters, a hand flies to slap his own forehead.

Sakusa’s scowls deepens and flames burn beneath his alarming stare. “Right, we literally just laid the first stone and you are telling me that you’ve already messed up?” he says, voice an octave higher. He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Atsumu, I swear to god I–“ his words trail off, running out of verb to carry on.

“It’s my bad, all right? Stop being such a dramatic bastard,” Atsumu grumbles as if he wasn’t being one ten seconds ago. “Moreover, which god again do you want to swear to, Omi-kun, stop with the religious remark.”

Before Sakusa can retaliate, Shoyo arrives at the table, a tray with a mug of coffee in his arms, a signature smile on his lips which dazzles like a damn firework blasting in the sight of their lifeless point of view.

“Black coffee,” Shoyo says as he raises the mug before landing it in front of Atsumu. 

“D-d-did you make this?” Atsumu blurts out before second thought is able to block him. Sakusa’s jaw drops in disbelief towards his absurd outburst.

“Eh?” Shoyo’s bright smile goes stiff as he blinks twice, not expecting to be probed with such a question. “Uh, yes?” he answers, a big question mark at the end, unsure what to say. “Do you have any problem with it?“

“No!” Atsumu exclaims, nearly yelling, which startles both Sakusa and Shoyo himself. “No, no, not a problem! It’s fine – better actually –“ he adverts his gaze and aims it towards Sakusa, begging for help which Sakusa responds with a glower instead. Atsumu turns back to Shoyo who’s obviously still drowning in confusion. “Sorry, it’s fine,” he sighs. “It’s good. You’re good”

Shoyo’s lips curl up once again. “I hope you’ll like it,” he says with grins, scratching his cheek with a finger. Atsumu needs to clench his teeth to forbid another dumb remark escaping from his lips. Shoyo then shifts his attention to Sakusa. “Would you like to order anything?”

Sakusa lets out a cough that obviously sounds fake. “Er, a coffee.” He moves his gaze back to his laptop. “A caffe latte with almond milk, three pumps of espresso, and two pumps of white mocha.”

“For goodness’ sake, where do you think we’re at, this isn’t Starbucks,” Atsumu whispers loudly, more like a breathy talking. Sakusa brushes it aside as Shoyo doesn’t complain either. Instead, the waiter laughs and the sight of him laughing knocks both of the law students senseless.

From behind his notepad, Shoyo peeks at the scattered paper on the table. “Dead week, isn’t it? Must be tough.” he chuckles. “Is there any food would you guys like to order?”

“Thanks but no thanks,” Sakusa replies since Atsumu hasn’t yet to regain his consciousness back. “We’re good just with the drink, if you would.”

“Y-yeah,” Atsumu mumbles, still not blinking. “No thank you.”

“All right, then. Let me know if you need anything else.” Shoyo says, he closes his notepad and turns to Atsumu. Atsumu swears he sees sparks fly between them. “Good luck with the assignment––“ Shoyo squints his eyes at the label on the article of incorporation, “Miya Osamu-san.”

And with that, Shoyo vacated from their booth and disappeared into the kitchen. Atsumu slams his fist on the table, his shoulders tremble as he hangs head to hide his reddened cheeks, which is pointless since his ears have turned crimson as well. 

_Good luck with your assignment, Miya Osamu-san._

Who would have thought Shoyo would say that? Shoyo said that to him! Shoyo personally looked towards him while saying that and he called him Miya– well, _Osamu_ – but it wasn’t his fault that he got it wrong since he read their wrong document! Atsumu wonders if Shoyo said that on purpose. Is Shoyo just messing up with him? Or, is Shoyo also interested in him as well? Dammit, his voice. Atsumu wants to hear it again.

Sakusa rolls a paper into a cone and hits Atsumu’s head with it. “Don’t you dare make a move on him,” he says, bluntly and unforgiving. “Not while looking like that. Yikes, you don’t stand a chance.”

Atsumu’s eyes go round, but before he is able to lodge any complaint, Sakusa slides his phone across the table, unlocked with the front camera opened. Atsumu picks the device up and frowns at the screen. 

Basically — to describe his current form— he’s a catastrophe. Atsumu is aware of how he doesn’t do any self-care during dead week and finals; he doesn’t even sleep, how will an expensive eye-cream or hair-gel lend a helping hand? Nevertheless, now that he has met Shoyo, he somehow believes they would have.

He slides the phone back to Sakusa. He doesn’t want to see anymore sight of his unkempt hair or his dark circles or his bloodshot eyes, and he doesn’t want to count on how many days he’s been wearing his university hoodie and his black trousers. The good news, he smells like Calvin Klein.

“Hey, hey, hey!” A familiar shout roars through the room and distracts them.

Bokuto sprints from the entrance and glides himself into the booth, practically springing his body towards Sakusa. As a skillful guy he is, Sakusa manages to scoot over by instinct and prevents the two from colliding into each other.

“So what’s up, juniors,” Bokuto greets as he puts down a slightly-wet plastic bag on the table. “Bought y’all something good and it means Monster Energy. Tsum-tsum, you totes look like chaos.”

To be insulted by Bokuto? He figures he should start using at least the eye-cream if he drops by his dorm sooner or later. “Yeah, thanks for the kind reminder,” he says, sarcastically.

“So, how’s the progress?” Bokuto asks, scanning his eyes through the mess on the table.

It then dawns to their minds how there has been no progress at all, thanks to Atsumu’s genius action of not bringing the right document and Shoyo’s radiant presence that’s worth five-billion joule of energy which could’ve powered up one household for a whole month. Now, it is a quarter past ten and this damned assignment must be collected at eight in the morning, in class as a hard-copy because some professors are ignorant towards technology as it could’ve been via e-mail.

When Sakusa’s coffee reaches the table, Bokuto orders Shoyo to bring them three empty mugs and a spoon. With those tools, that guy literally mixes the three-pumps-of-espresso-latte with Monster Energy and commands his junior to chug the whole thing down by saying there is no other choice. Sakusa and Atsumu believe their hearts stop beating the moment they sip at the mixture.

It was two in the morning when they enter the peak of desperation. As a consequence of Bokuto’s special blend, Atsumu has thrown up one time in the restroom and it seems that Sakusa’s consciousness has broken into the astral realms. Bokuto himself has undergone three mental breakdowns that they needed to call his emotional support named Akaashi to seek for help. At last, the blend has supplied them enough energy to tackle their case up to three-quarter part of their analysis.

Atsumu buries his face on both palms. He feels like he will vomit if he stares at his laptop screen any longer. The diner sure is quite as he’s alone in that dining room. Sakusa has taken his car to drive to Osamu’s dorm and trade-off the exchanged document, and Bokuto is on the way to the nearest pharmacy to buy medicine for Atsumu’s stomach ache. 

His head sways every time the thought of having this assignment unfished pops out in his mind. Thirty percent worth of grade is not a mere joke and it’s not fair. Thirty percent isn’t any different from having the final exam itself. This class is truly a joke. Law school is a joke. He is a joke. 

“Are you okay?”

Atsumu feels a faint touch on his back and instantly straightens up. He can’t believe his own eyes when he sees Shoyo standing next to him, face frowning in worry and he has one hand on Atsumu’s back. 

Before Atsumu can utter any word, his eyes dart towards Shoyo’s other hand. Shoyo notices it and he adds, “I made you a snack since you guys haven’t ordered anything at all but a ridiculous number of black coffee.”

He places the plate on the table, among the abundance of white mugs Atsumu doesn’t even remember the amount. The snack is sandwiches. Shoyo has made sandwiches and it’s not the typical convenience-store-kind-of sandwiches with pale-colored lettuce and thin-sliced ham. It has tuna and even though the meat is chopped, Atsumu can recognize it straightaway since it is his favorite food; and it also has egg-mayonnaise spread, which is one of the godly combinations ever invented.

“Uh, it’s on the house,” Shoyo says in panic as Atsumu only responds with a blank stare at the sandwiches. “I just thought you need to eat something and I saw you threw up earlier and I don’t want you to pass out.”

“No, no!” Atsumu manages to recapture his awareness. “I mean–” he coughs, “I appreciate it but I will pay for it.”

Atsumu reaches out to take the menu book from the holder but Shoyo stops him. “It’s fine, it’s not on the menu,” he says. “I make it myself and even if you want to pay for it, I don’t know how much did it cost.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I use the ingredient here but–“ Shoyo stretches the back of his head and shrugs. He bends slightly to match Atsumu’s sitting height. “It’s just tuna-and-egg sandwich, my boss won’t notice a thing,” he whispers, putting an open palm next to his mouth. 

Atsumu isn’t even sure he’s still breathing. Shoyo’s face is so close to his and the warmth of his breath tickles his ear, causing his body to stiffen like a statue. His blood rushes all the way to his neck, his face, and his ears. He wants to scream out his emotion on top of his lungs into the dead of night.

His sudden flushed skin makes Shoyo startle and by nature Shoyo places his hand on Atsumu’s forehead. “A-a-are you all right, Miya-san?” he freaks out. “Is it better to go to the hospital instead, oh my god, are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”

Atsumu exhales a long breath and wipes his face with both of his palms. “I’m fine, it’s nothing,” he says, chuckling, more to himself. He turns to Shoyo, smiling gently, “It’s nothing. Thanks, Shoyo-kun.”

Shoyo stares back at him and silence steals the moment for some seconds before Shoyo snaps, “Ah, I–“ He straightens his back, running his fingers on the soft-looking curls of his hair. “Is– is there anything else you need? Anything else to make you feel better? I know you’ve been working hard for hours, I will do anything to help.”

Atsumu blinks at him at first, but an idea comes up in his mind. “Then,” he wets his lips before continuing. “Can you accompany me for a bit?”

It’s Shoyo’s turn to blink at him, at first, because then he nods and takes the seat across him. Atsumu watches him thoroughly; his expression, his movement, the way he scratches the back of his neck; every single thing about him clenches Atsumu’s heart and shortens each breath he draws in.

“Does this make you feel better?” Shoyo asks, tilting his head to one side.

“Totally,” Atsumu mumbles subconsciously. Shoyo is just so beautiful he couldn’t take his eyes off and it makes Atsumu self-conscious about his own appearance. Asking someone’s so pretty to sit with a chaotic-looking mess? The audacity. Well, at least he smells like Calvin Klein.

“So,” Shoyo stirs in his seat, folds his arm and places them on the table before his chest. “What’s with this certain assignment? What makes it worthy of all this mess?”

Atsumu sighs again. He wonders how many times he has breathed out exhausted sighs today and it’s only past two in the morning. “Well, people say it’s normal. It’s law school after all,” he says, he sounds tired. He shots a worn-out smile to Shoyo. “So uncool, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

Shoyo knits his brow. “What makes you think it’s uncool?”

His response surprises Atsumu. _What makes him think it’s uncool?_ Well, everything is uncool. The mess on the table, his eyebags, his clothes, the fact that he hasn’t finished his assignment, the fact that he threw up because of Monster Energy mixed in espresso, perhaps even the smell of Calvin Klein is uncool. 

“What makes _you_ think it’s _not_ uncool, Shoyo-kun?” Atsumu sends the question back.

“Answer me first, Miya Osamu-san,” Shoyo laughs and Atsumu remembers how Shoyo hasn’t yet to know his right name.

“Actually, my name is Miya Atsumu,” Atsumu corrects him. “Miya Osamu is my brother, so you can, you know–“ he fiddles with his fingers, directing his gaze to somewhere else. “You can– you can call me Atsumu since everyone calls me Atsumu– but you can refer my brother as Miya though.”

“Oh, all right,” Shoyo nods. “Then, what makes you think you’re uncool, _Atsumu-san_?”

So that’s how it sounds like; his name, with Shoyo’s voice. Atsumu. He has never anticipated how there’s a day when he will come to love the sound of his own name, specifically with Shoyo’s voice; he loves the way how Shoyo says it and he loves the fact that Shoyo is the one who says it.

“I–“ Atsumu replies as he notices they’ve been in awkward silence for too long. “I think the fact that I’m burnt out because of an assignment is not exactly cool.”

Shoyo waits for Atsumu to say more and when nothing comes out, he says, “I think the fact that you’re working hard is cool, Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu looks surprised. “You think–“ he fluffs his own line. “You think working hard is cool?”

Shoyo stares back at him like it’s needless to say, like it’s crystal clear and Atsumu should’ve known it better. “I think, _you_ are cool,” he restates. “Not everyone can work hard and I think the fact that you can do it, makes you cool.”

There are sparkles in Shoyo’s eyes and a genuine smile on his lips. His cheeks blushes, tinted with peach color. He’s so beautiful and Atsumu has lost count how many times he has said that already, all to himself, he hopes Shoyo knows it even without anyone telling. Also, his voice. _I think you are cool._ God, _his voice_. His voice cheers for him. 

At that moment, everything becomes all right and Atsumu feels like he can do anything; unstoppable, even. This assignment feels nothing and it doesn’t feel like he has just chucked up Monster Energy and espresso about an hour ago. He can eat the tuna sandwiches and type his way throughout the last one-fourth part of the analysis. Nothing can stop him. Not the missing document of the witnesses, not the bloody spork as the only evidence, nothing. 

With Shoyo here; his reason sharpens, his motives solidifies, and his future lights up one more time. His smile leads the way towards hope once again.

“Ah, he wakes up.”

The first thing Atsumu sees when he opens his eyes is the dark circles under Sakusa’s eyes. He jerks awake, sitting up; he feels pain on his back and sore on his neck. He squints at the bright sunlight invading from the wide window next to him. It’s morning.

He turns to Sakusa, eyes wide. “What time is it?” he asks, followed by terrible coughs. His throat hurts and it feels dry.

“It’s seven. You passed out after finishing the analysis, Tsum-tsum,” Bokuto, who he has just noticed is sitting across him, answers. “We spend the rest of night making the conclusion.” He drops the already-printed assignment on top of the table. “I’m so proud of us. You guys are going to be a real good defense lawyer– well, after me though.”

The assignment is done. A relief sigh escapes through his nose. Ignoring Bokuto, Atsumu turns to Sakusa. “Did you say I passed out?” he asks and Sakusa nods. “When did– what about Shoyo?”

“We don’t know when’s exactly, maybe right after you’ve completed the analysis. The waiter took care of you until we came back,” Sakusa explains, angled his head towards the counter. Atsumu’s gaze follows his direction and finds Shoyo standing beside the register, having a conversation with some customers that seem to be local residents. “Go thank him,” Sakusa adds.

“Yeah, hurry up and thank him, Tsum-tsum. You’re such a handful, big baby,” Bokuto cracks up and Atsumu scowls at him which he pays no heed to. “Go on,” he urges on Atsumu instead. “We’ll pack up and after you’re done, we’re heading to class to collect this cursed paper.”

“All right,” Atsumu says, he slides himself out of the booth and proceeds towards the register.

Shoyo notices his approach. He excuses himself out of the conversation and advances towards Atsumu. Now that he’s standing before him, Atsumu heeds their height difference. Shoyo is only as tall as his chin; probably less than five feet eight; exact perfect height for Atsumu to wrap his arm around and pulls him into his embrace.

“Are you feeling better now?” Shoyo asks. The way Shoyo needs to raises his face to look into Atsumu’s eyes flutters his heart.

“I’m sorry I caused you much trouble, Shoyo-kun,” Atsumu replies, ruffling his own hair. “I should pay you back with something. Saying ‘thank you’ is not enough.”

“No, no, it’s totally all right,” he refuses, waving his hand.

“I mean, I can’t just say thanks and leave,” Atsumu argues. “After all you’ve done– there must be something that I can do or anything you want, anything at all; Starbucks drink, Marvel movie’s premiere.”

“But I can’t accept it.”

“But I insist,” Atsumu declares, hands on his hips, as if he’s trying to imply that debating with him is pointless; duh, he’s a law school undergraduates. 

Shoyo bites his lower lips, curling his fingers, arms stiffen alongside him. “Then, please–“ he droops his head and talks under his breath.

“Huh?” Atsumu can’t hear Shoyo’s voice. He bends over a little to position his ear near Shoyo’s head.

“Please give me your number!” Shoyo yells, like really yelling; with all of his energy, possibly all of his guts.

The scene catches attention from everyone in that diner, even someone who seems to be the boss sticks out his head from the separation curtain. For a moment, everything goes hush until someone decides to slow-clap out of the blue and for whatever reason people start to follow.

“Way to go, Shoyo!” a customer shouts from among the crowd and the applause becomes louder; cheers and whistles tails behind.

“Tsum-tsum’s so lucky!” That’s Bokuto for sure.

“Congratulation even though you looks like––”

“Kiyoomi says congratulation even though you look like–– I don’t want to yell the _S_ word!”

Those two really can’t read the mood. However, Atsumu doesn’t mind–– or more like, he can’t mind it. His mind stops working as his eyes are fixed at the figure standing in front of him, face all red in embarrassment, eyes looking up to him full of hope. Atsumu needs to answer, of course he will say yes. Regardless, the next thing he remembers is falling down onto his knees and blackout.

Later that morning, Bokuto and Sakusa bring Atsumu to class by dragging him by his feet.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far! I'm also a law student myself, so when I say our assignment is deadly then I'm speaking based on my experience (lol). I really love the black jackals relationship, they really are a bunch of people with memes. Also, I've made a haikyuu twitter account earlier this month, my username is @kumachan_0201. I didn't know twitter stans are this huge since I'm more of a tumblr person.
> 
> Let me know what you thought below!


End file.
